--
Yit here I am, this minit, even sixty, to a day,
And fergittin' all that's in it, wishm' jest the other way!
I hain't no hand to lectur' on the times, er dimonstrate
Whare the trouble is, er hector and domineer with Fate,--
But when I git so flurried, and so pestered-like and blue,
And so rail owdacious worried, let me tell you what I
do!--
I jest gee-haw the hosses, and onhook the swingle-tree,
Whare the hazel-bushes tosses down theyr shadders over
me;
And I draw my plug o' navy, and I climb the fence, and
set
Jest a-thinkin' here, i gravy' tel my eyes is wringin'-wet!
Tho' I still kin see the trouble o' the PRESUNT, I kin see--
Kindo' like my sight wuz double-all the things that
UST to be;
And the flutter o' the robin and the teeter o' the wren
Sets the willer-branches bobbin' "howdy-do" thum Now
to Then!
The deadnin' and the thicket's jest a-bilin' full of June,
From the rattle o' the cricket, to the yallar-hammer's
tune;
And the catbird in the bottom, and the sapsuck on the
snag,
Seems ef they can't-od-rot 'em!-jest do nothin' else
but brag!
They's music in the twitter of the bluebird and the jay,
And that sassy little critter jest a-peckin' all the day;
They's music in the "flicker," and they's music in the
thrush,
And they's music in the snicker o' the chipmunk in the
brush!
They's music all around me!--And I go back, in a dream
Sweeter yit than ever found me fast asleep,--and in the
stream
That list to split the medder whare the dandylions
growed,
I stand knee-deep, and redder than the sunset down the
road.
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